Finding Your Place at the King's Table
Imagine receiving a royal invitation—an ornate scroll delivered to your door, summoning you by name to dine at the king's table. Not just any meal, but an adoption feast where the king himself has chosen to make you family. This isn't fantasy; it's the spiritual reality at the heart of the Christmas story.
A Story of Belonging
Picture a young boy who had no name. Abandoned as an infant and raised by a kind stable master, he was simply known as "Boy." When a royal messenger arrived with an invitation to the king's adoption banquet, confusion flooded his mind. How could this be for him? He had no name, no status, nothing that would warrant such an honor.
At the palace, surrounded by other forgotten children—street orphans, wounded soldiers, lost shepherds—the boy searched for his place. Each chair bore a nameplate, but he couldn't find one that said "Boy." Then he saw it: a name that stirred something deep within him, though he couldn't quite remember it.
When the king entered and approached him, speaking with tender authority, the truth became clear: "You've always had a name. I chose you before you were born. You've always had a place at my table."
The boy protested, certain there must be a mistake. And the king, kneeling to meet him eye to eye, whispered the truth that changes everything: "That's exactly why you belong here. It's never about what you've done. It's always been about who I say you are."
Chosen Before Time Began
This beautiful picture reflects a profound spiritual truth found in Ephesians 1:4-5: "Even before he made the world, God loved us and chose us in Christ to be holy and without fault in his eyes. God decided in advance to adopt us into his own family by bringing us to himself through Jesus Christ. This is what he wanted to do and it gave him great pleasure."
Let that sink in. Before the foundation of the world, before the first star was flung into space, before humanity took its first breath—God loved you. He chose you. He anticipated you.
We often think of acceptance as something we earn or achieve. But the Christmas story reveals something far more beautiful: we are not merely accepted; we are anticipated. God has been waiting for us, a place prepared, a name already known, an invitation already written.
The Knock at the Door
Revelation 3:20 captures this invitation perfectly: "Look, I stand at the door and knock. If you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in, and we will share a meal together as friends."
Jesus's birth wasn't just a historical moment—it was the beginning of a royal banquet open to all who answer the knock. The angels announced "good news for all people" because God himself became flesh, and everyone is welcome, chosen, and cherished.
But here's where we often stumble: What do we do with the invitation?
The Problem of Excuses
Jesus once told a parable about a great banquet where invited guests made excuses. One had just bought a field and needed to inspect it. Another had purchased oxen to try out. A third had just married and couldn't attend. Each excuse seemed reasonable, even legitimate. Yet each communicated the same underlying message: the king's invitation wasn't their priority.
We do the same thing, don't we? Work is crazy. We're launching a new business. We just bought a house with renovations to complete. We have family obligations and travel plans. We've gotten out of the habit, and getting back feels awkward.
None of these excuses are hostile or wicked. They're just... life. But the tragedy isn't rejection with clenched fists—it's rejection with full calendars. We don't miss the table because we hate the king; we miss it because we're too busy to believe the table matters.
Living as Sons and Daughters
The spiritual problem many of us face is that we've heard the knock, maybe even opened the door, but we haven't fully claimed our identity as sons and daughters of the King. We haven't unwrapped the gift of our belonging.
Imagine receiving a beautifully wrapped Christmas present with your name on it. You admire it under the tree for weeks. Christmas comes and goes, but you never open it. Instead, you pack it away on a shelf, unopened and unexplored. Absurd, right? Yet spiritually, we do this all the time with God's gift.
We admire the manger story. We read the invitation. We hear the knock. But we don't open the door fully. We don't pull out the chair. We don't unwrap our identity as the beloved.
Five Ways to Accept the Invitation
So how do we change this? How do we fully accept God's invitation and sit at the King's table?
First, open the door. When Jesus knocks, answer—not just once, but daily. Salvation is a moment, but relationship is ongoing.
Second, stop trying to earn your seat. You're not at the table because you're worthy; you're there because you're loved. Put down the shame, the performance anxiety, the guilt. Just be present.
Third, sit in your identity. You're not a visitor; you're family. Speak truth over yourself: "I am chosen. I am adopted. I am enough."
Fourth, clear your calendar. Excuses fill space, but God's invitation demands margin. Make the relationship a priority. Create space for what matters most.
Fifth, bring someone with you. The table is expansive, with room for one more. Who needs to hear they're invited? Who needs to know there's a place with their name on it?
This Christmas, Take Your Seat
The Christmas season should remind us that Jesus's birth was more than a historical event—it was the opening of a royal banquet. The King has prepared a feast, and you are not just invited; you are anticipated.
You have a name that God has known since before time began. You have a place prepared. You have an identity as a beloved son or daughter of the King.
So this Christmas, don't just celebrate the birth of Christ. Dine with Him. Don't just admire the table. Take your seat. Stop living like an orphan trying to earn belonging, and start living like royalty who has already been claimed.
The King is knocking. The invitation bears your name. The feast is ready.
Will you answer? Will you sit? Will you receive?
Your place at the table is waiting.
A Story of Belonging
Picture a young boy who had no name. Abandoned as an infant and raised by a kind stable master, he was simply known as "Boy." When a royal messenger arrived with an invitation to the king's adoption banquet, confusion flooded his mind. How could this be for him? He had no name, no status, nothing that would warrant such an honor.
At the palace, surrounded by other forgotten children—street orphans, wounded soldiers, lost shepherds—the boy searched for his place. Each chair bore a nameplate, but he couldn't find one that said "Boy." Then he saw it: a name that stirred something deep within him, though he couldn't quite remember it.
When the king entered and approached him, speaking with tender authority, the truth became clear: "You've always had a name. I chose you before you were born. You've always had a place at my table."
The boy protested, certain there must be a mistake. And the king, kneeling to meet him eye to eye, whispered the truth that changes everything: "That's exactly why you belong here. It's never about what you've done. It's always been about who I say you are."
Chosen Before Time Began
This beautiful picture reflects a profound spiritual truth found in Ephesians 1:4-5: "Even before he made the world, God loved us and chose us in Christ to be holy and without fault in his eyes. God decided in advance to adopt us into his own family by bringing us to himself through Jesus Christ. This is what he wanted to do and it gave him great pleasure."
Let that sink in. Before the foundation of the world, before the first star was flung into space, before humanity took its first breath—God loved you. He chose you. He anticipated you.
We often think of acceptance as something we earn or achieve. But the Christmas story reveals something far more beautiful: we are not merely accepted; we are anticipated. God has been waiting for us, a place prepared, a name already known, an invitation already written.
The Knock at the Door
Revelation 3:20 captures this invitation perfectly: "Look, I stand at the door and knock. If you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in, and we will share a meal together as friends."
Jesus's birth wasn't just a historical moment—it was the beginning of a royal banquet open to all who answer the knock. The angels announced "good news for all people" because God himself became flesh, and everyone is welcome, chosen, and cherished.
But here's where we often stumble: What do we do with the invitation?
The Problem of Excuses
Jesus once told a parable about a great banquet where invited guests made excuses. One had just bought a field and needed to inspect it. Another had purchased oxen to try out. A third had just married and couldn't attend. Each excuse seemed reasonable, even legitimate. Yet each communicated the same underlying message: the king's invitation wasn't their priority.
We do the same thing, don't we? Work is crazy. We're launching a new business. We just bought a house with renovations to complete. We have family obligations and travel plans. We've gotten out of the habit, and getting back feels awkward.
None of these excuses are hostile or wicked. They're just... life. But the tragedy isn't rejection with clenched fists—it's rejection with full calendars. We don't miss the table because we hate the king; we miss it because we're too busy to believe the table matters.
Living as Sons and Daughters
The spiritual problem many of us face is that we've heard the knock, maybe even opened the door, but we haven't fully claimed our identity as sons and daughters of the King. We haven't unwrapped the gift of our belonging.
Imagine receiving a beautifully wrapped Christmas present with your name on it. You admire it under the tree for weeks. Christmas comes and goes, but you never open it. Instead, you pack it away on a shelf, unopened and unexplored. Absurd, right? Yet spiritually, we do this all the time with God's gift.
We admire the manger story. We read the invitation. We hear the knock. But we don't open the door fully. We don't pull out the chair. We don't unwrap our identity as the beloved.
Five Ways to Accept the Invitation
So how do we change this? How do we fully accept God's invitation and sit at the King's table?
First, open the door. When Jesus knocks, answer—not just once, but daily. Salvation is a moment, but relationship is ongoing.
Second, stop trying to earn your seat. You're not at the table because you're worthy; you're there because you're loved. Put down the shame, the performance anxiety, the guilt. Just be present.
Third, sit in your identity. You're not a visitor; you're family. Speak truth over yourself: "I am chosen. I am adopted. I am enough."
Fourth, clear your calendar. Excuses fill space, but God's invitation demands margin. Make the relationship a priority. Create space for what matters most.
Fifth, bring someone with you. The table is expansive, with room for one more. Who needs to hear they're invited? Who needs to know there's a place with their name on it?
This Christmas, Take Your Seat
The Christmas season should remind us that Jesus's birth was more than a historical event—it was the opening of a royal banquet. The King has prepared a feast, and you are not just invited; you are anticipated.
You have a name that God has known since before time began. You have a place prepared. You have an identity as a beloved son or daughter of the King.
So this Christmas, don't just celebrate the birth of Christ. Dine with Him. Don't just admire the table. Take your seat. Stop living like an orphan trying to earn belonging, and start living like royalty who has already been claimed.
The King is knocking. The invitation bears your name. The feast is ready.
Will you answer? Will you sit? Will you receive?
Your place at the table is waiting.